


All these broken pieces fit together (to make a perfect picture of us)

by frostysunflowers



Series: The Multi Verse [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Character Death, Domestic Avengers, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Mush, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Multiverse, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sleepy Cuddles, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whump, brush up on your pop culture y'all, so many movie rip offs, so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 10:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: On quiet nights, they talk and dream of all that could be.orThe continuation of A Hundred Lifetimes.Can be read as a stand alone!





	All these broken pieces fit together (to make a perfect picture of us)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ciaconnaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/gifts), [blondsak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/gifts).



> I know I know, I'm such a glutton haha, but the ideas wouldn't go away. 
> 
> This is a carry on from A Hundred Lifetimes and a spin off from my Tomorrow is another day series but this can definitely be read as a stand alone so please read! All you need to know is that everybody is alive and happy and when Tony snapped his fingers he saw every possible reality and timeline and universe that could/does/will exist but has no memory of what he saw - this series focuses on the different versions of Tony and Peter that exist in those other worlds. 
> 
> Vast amounts of movie rip offs and cheese and fluff and angst ahead guys, as usual! Hopefully there's something for everyone :) Excuse any errors I feel like I've gone blind from the amount of times I've read through this now! 
> 
> T.W. for descriptions of terminal illness and underage relations (mentioned briefly if hardly at all)

''For the last time, no! I don’t think there’s a universe where you’re Peter Pan and I’m Captain fucking Hook!''

Peter gasps and prods Tony in the side with his foot. ''Language.'' 

Tony returns the gesture with a little more force. ''Don’t tell me what to do in my own house, you little terror.''

 _''Think of the happiest things_ ,'' Peter sings cheerfully, grinning widely at him. '' _I_ _t’s the same as having wiiings_.''

''I don’t need wings to fly,'' Tony says haughtily, kicking him again. ''I have thrusters.''

''That’s nowhere near as remotely cool as being able to fly with the power of happy thoughts.''

''I think you’ll find it is, in fact, way cooler,'' Tony argues, mocking the kid’s tone and pulling a dopey face.

''You’re ridiculous.'' Peter says and tilts his head to look over the back of the couch at Pepper. ''Tell him he’s ridiculous.''

''You are a ridiculous man,'' Pepper affirms as she moves past the couch.  

''I am not!''

Pepper stops and looks over at him, eyebrow raised. ''You once bit part of my dress during a press release. In front of hundreds of people.''

Tony throws his hands up defensively. ''The shoulder bit was sticking out! I was…tempted.''

Pepper snorts as a cheeky smirk naturally forms on Tony’s face. ''You were bored.''

''They were speaking French, Pepper! I had no idea what they were saying, so sue me if I had to entertain myself a little.''

''You actually did bite her dress!'' Peter chortles, face awash with a blue light as he watches a video – no doubt the recording of the press release – on his phone.

''Give me that.'' Tony grabs the phone and throws it across the room where it lands on a discarded ottoman. Peter moans in protest but makes no move to get up and retrieve it. Instead he shuffles further under the blanket that they’re sharing, fidgeting around until he gets comfy again, and glares reproachfully at Tony.

''Don’t look at me like that, Underoos. You brought it on yourself.''

''Try not to stay up too late,'' Pepper says with all the air of a person who knows that her words will achieve nothing. ''You know Morgan will want to have breakfast with you, Peter. And Harley’s coming tomorrow, don’t forget.''

''How could we?'' Tony rolls his eyes. ''Tweedledee and Tweedledum have done nothing but scream like banshees at each other over the phone for the last week about it.''

''We don’t _scream,''_ Peter scoffs.

Tony’s retort is cut off by Pepper pressing a kiss to his lips. He grins knowingly at her as she draws back, giving him a smile.

''I mean it,'' she says as she heads for the stairs, ruffling Peter’s hair along the way. ''Last thing we need is a bunch of sleep-deprived idiots hanging out in the garage together.''

Peter salutes her and Tony pouts before flashing her another smile as she disappears from view. An impressively loud yawn captures his attention and he gives Peter a meaningful but hardly serious glare.

''What happened to movie night, kiddo?''

Peter wriggles so that he’s more or less fully lying down, his feet resting somewhere by Tony’s bicep. Tony moves into a more comfortable position, tucking his toes just underneath Peter’s back and a hand resting on one of Peter’s legs.

''I’m awake,'' Peter insists, widening his eyes to push back against the tiredness that Tony can practically see taking over. ''Just…'' he squirms around again so that his upper body is slightly on its side, head nuzzled into a pillow, ''don’t want to go to bed yet.''

He doesn’t elaborate but that’s because he doesn’t need to. Even after living in peace for as long as they have, Tony knows that Peter still doesn’t like to be too far away from him for too long if he can help it.

Tony gets it. He feels exactly the same way.

''Sleepover on the couch it is then,'' he declares, hardly surprised because they’ve done this so many times now, and his back thanks him a little less for it every time that they do. ''Give me one of those pillows you’re hogging over there.''

''You think there’s a world where you aren’t bossy?'' Peter says as he dutifully hands one over.

''I hope not.'' Tony replies, pulling insistently at the corner of the blanket.

''Or one where you aren’t a total blanket hog,'' Peter complains, yanking it back when Tony pulls too far.

''Perish the thought.''

''What about a world where you’re a shark and I’m a merman and we raid sunken pirate ships for treasure together?'' Peter muses with another yawn.

''I swear to god Pe – a shark, you say?'' Tony pauses in his grousing, head tilted in curiosity. ''Interesting…'' Peter’s little chuckle jerks him away from thoughts of sharp teeth and chasing tiny little fish with red and blue scales. ''Go to _sleep,_ brat.''

Peter sticks his tongue out and Tony fights to hide his grin, because if _that_ doesn’t sum up the utter ease of their relationship now, a few occasional hiccups of anxiousness and insecurity notwithstanding, then nothing will.

''That is pure insolence and I will not tolerate it under my roof.''

''Don’t care,'' Peter mumbles into his pillow.

''The impudence, the nerve – ''

''Stop acting like a thesaurus,'' Peter grumbles sleepily, twitching his foot into Tony’s side again. '''S’too loud.''

''Sorry, Spider-baby,'' Tony says, sliding his hand along squeeze one of the kid’s feet, thumb pushing gently into the instep. He rubs the skin there gently, watching with a smile as Peter’s shoulders relax and his breathing becomes slow and deep.

Turning his attention back to the movie that plays almost silently on the television, Tony sighs contentedly and savours the peaceful moment, not even realising that he’s drifting off to sleep too until the first tentative tugs of a dream begin to pull him under.

 

 

* * *

 

In a cave upon a rather modern world of sand and stone, Tony peers downwards, eyes dark and one eyebrow lifted thoughtfully. The person sprawled on the floor stares up at him with a jaw hanging wide open.

''Gotta say, it’s been a few millennia since I had a master as short as you.''

The kid, because that’s what he is, scowls a little as he scrambles to his feet, clutching the lamp in his shaking hands.  

''I’m not short!''

''No, you’re right.'' Tony leans down, making the kid jump back, and bounces a giant hand above his head. ''You’re miniscule.''

The kid glares reproachfully up at him before glancing down at the lamp. ''So…you’re, like, magic?''

Tony straightens up. ''Obviously.''

The kid swallows audibly before standing a little taller.

''Hey, uh, I-I’m Peter.'' He holds out a hand before his eyes shift to Tony’s giant blue fingers and he lowers it back down quickly. ''And you’re…''

''The genie,'' Tony supplies. The kid carries on looking at him expectantly so he adds airily, ''Tony.''

''Doesn’t sound like a genie name.''

''What do you want from me, kid?'' Tony sighs. ''Singing and dancing? Fireworks? Some ridiculous name no poor soul on earth has a hope of pronouncing?''

The kid – _Peter_ \- shrugs ''Well…yeah. Isn’t that sort of what genies do?''

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan. ''Humans.'' He twirls down so that he’s only a foot or two taller than Peter. ''Do I look like the kinda guy that cares about the razzmatazz?''

''Well…I don’t know, man, I mean you’re…'' Peter gestures vaguely at Tony before shrinking under Tony’s fierce stare. ''Never mind. Look, you, um…grant wishes, right?''

''Yup. Three wishes, no more. I don’t do messing with free will, raising people from the dead because it’s beyond messy, and I can’t make anybody fall in love so…'' he eyes the monkey sitting at Peter’s feet, ''don’t be getting any funny ideas, kid.''

Peter looks down at the monkey who lifts its little fez to scratch at its head. ''Oh, this is Ned.''

''Don’t care,'' Tony responds before clapping his hands together, the sound ricocheting like a bullet off the cave walls. ''So what’ll it be, _master?''_

''Can you make me into a superhero?'' The kid blurts out, voice squeaky with excitement.

Tony looks at him for a long moment. ''A superhero.''

Peter blushes and shuffles his feet awkwardly. ''Yeah. See, there’s this group of heroes, called the Aven – ''

''I really don’t need the backstory,'' Tony waves a hand and sighs. ''Well, it’s definitely not the most outrageous thing I’ve ever been asked.'' He studies Peter as he swirls around him. ''What are you thinking, exactly? Flight? Super strength? An insatiable need to do good?''

''Actually, I’ve been studying lots of animals, y’know, to get some ideas for possible powers and well, technically they’re not animals but, um, spiders?''

Tony twirls in front of him, faces inches apart. ''Where are you going with this, kid,'' he demands.

''Spiders. Some can make webs that can withstand _bullets!_ And they’re crazy fast and can stick to walls and, you know, there’s that whole ‘spider-sense’ thing that they have which means they can jump out of the way before someone gets ‘em with a rolled up – ''

''I get the picture.'' Tony cuts him off and leans back, eyes narrowing in assessment. ''I take it you don’t want to change anything…'' he wiggles his fingers to indicate Peter’s appearance.

''Oh, no!'' Peter nearly drops the lamp in his eagerness. ''No no, no looking like an actual spider just…spider powers?''

''Spider powers.'' Tony repeats and rubs a hand across his goatee. ''Okay, Spider-baby – ''

''Spider-Man.''

 _''Whatever._ ’’ He blows against the tips of his fingertips before wiggling them, sending sparks into the air that make Peter’s eyes widen in panic. ''One awkward teenage spider superhero coming up.''

Peter ducks his head, like he’s bracing himself. ''Uh, are you sure this is gonna work?''

‘’Trust me, kid.’’ Tony spreads his arms wide and grins. ''You ain’t never had a friend like me.''

* * *

 

Someplace out where the human race has taken their arrogance to new levels, rain is pouring down onto Tony Stark as he stands frozen on the spot, staring up at the dinosaur looming over him.

Its teeth are bared in a snarl and a line of drool as wide as a river drips down from its upper fangs. Leathery skin glints under the fluorescent spotlights and rancid breath ripples across the air. Tony fights the urge to move, to run back to the jeep where Rhodey is no doubt watching him in horror. Instead, he casts a glance over to the carnage that lies a few feet away.

The other jeep is a mess; turned over on its roof, crushed into the mud and surrounded by shattered glass. He can hear frightened crying coming from somewhere underneath it and feels the briefest flicker of relief, because it means the kid is alive.

But the sound is drawing the attention of the Tyrannosaurus Rex and Tony has no means of stopping it, not without offering himself up to the merciless jaws of the beast.

A fizzing noise from behind him catches his and the dinosaur’s attention and he twists his head as subtly as he can, though he knows what he’s about to see.

''Hey!'' Rhodey shouts from beside their car, swishing a flare high above his head.

''Rhodey, wait!'' Tony growls through his teeth, but the man carries on, squinting up into the rain as the dinosaur turns and unleashes a deafening roar in their direction.

''Grab the kid!'' Rhodey shouts and Tony watches helplessly, dismay mounting inside of him, as his friend takes off running towards the treeline, still whirling the flare about like a flag. The T-Rex lurches after him, gigantic footfalls making the ground beneath Tony’s feet quake. Tony’s chest rises and falls with heavy gasps as the beast stalks past him and, with a quick regretful glance at his best friend’s retreating figure, he hurries towards the upturned car.

''Kid!'' he calls loudly, praying to high heaven that there isn’t anything else lurking in the trees waiting to devour anything in sight. ''Kid!''

A hand pokes out from a glassless window just as Tony lands on his knees in the mud. ''Mister Stark!'' A frightened voice chokes out. ''M-Mister Stark I can’t get out I’m stuck I can’t –''

''Hey hey!'' Tony grabs the flailing hand in his own and holds tight as he ducks down. ''You gotta calm down, kid, alright? You listening to me under there?''

He catches sight of the boy then. Peter Parker, the ten-year-old grandson of the maniac who decided to build a park with real-life prehistoric creatures in it, gazes out at him with the biggest eyes Tony has ever seen. He’d noticed them before, back when the kid was jabbering incessantly at him about one of the many books Tony had written. They look positively huge as tears flow from them in thick trails. His clothes are stained dark with the mud that’s seeping through the gaps between the car and the sodden ground and there’s two gashes across his left cheek.

''I’ll get you out, alright?'' Tony reassures, automatically squeezing Peter’s hand as he lets out another wail. ''Okay?''

''They left me,'' Peter sobs, face twisting in confused dismay. ''They left me!''

It’s only then that Tony remembers the sight of the other kid ( _Flick? Chase? Flash?)_ and his father leaping out of the car and hurtling away into the darkness the moment that the T-Rex had reared its head over the paddock fence. Minutes later, the fence had come down and everything had gone horribly wrong straight after.

And now, Tony’s lying in the mud with a traumatised child crying underneath a car and the possibility of being eaten alive.

''They left me,'' Peter whimpers again.

Tony gives his hand a shake. They don’t have time for this.

''But that’s not what I’m gonna do,'' he replies, voice strangely soft but firm. ''Alright?''

He nods and the kid copies him, tears slowing down as he studies Tony’s face searchingly, hopefully.

''Good man.'' Tony lets go of his hand, letting his fingertips linger for a second as the kid tries to hold on, before rising up on his knees. ''Now let’s get you out from under this thing.''

He’s barely begun trying to heave the vehicle up just enough for the kid to be able to slide out before the approaching footfalls coming from within the treeline have him dropping onto his stomach and scrambling underneath the car himself. It’s an unbearably tight fit; wet mud oozes against him like congealed pudding and turns his movements sluggish. He immediately hooks an arm over the kid’s shoulders, hand pressing over his mouth to silence the startled yell he’s about to give and holds his breath as a giant foot lands mere inches away from them.

Dinosaurs are smart bastards so it doesn’t take long for the thing to work out that there’s something interesting beneath the upturned car. Tony curses the day he decided he wanted to be a palaeontologist because if he’d never decided that, he wouldn’t be here, trapped under a car that’s being shoved towards the brow of the paddock; wouldn’t be clinging desperately onto a child that he barely knows as they dangle precariously over the edge; wouldn’t be about to plunge however many feet down with nothing but a broken shell of metal to protect them.

He finds himself wondering how much his latest book will make if it’s published posthumously; maybe Pepper will write a forward for it, something short and sweet that tells the world that he died like a hero or something.

Not covered in mud and unable to console a crying boy that only wanted to experience every kid’s dream of seeing a real dinosaur.

The car begins to tilt and Tony yanks Peter closer, because what else can he do?

''Hang on, kid.''

The last thing he hears as they fall is a ferocious roar and Peter’s frightened scream.

 

* * *

 

Worlds and eternities away, a watery smile appears on Tony Stark’s face as he crouches down low.

''You got your lunch?''

A space-themed lunchbox is wiggled close to his face.

''Pencil case?''

''In my backpack.''

''Okay, good.'' Tony takes a deep breath. ''Well, I guess this is it, huh, kiddo?''

Peter blinks uncertainly at him, caramel eyes shining. ''Can’t I just stay with you?''

''Oh, you don’t wanna do that. This’ll be way more fun.'' Tony gestures to the busy playground where children of all ages are tearing around and laughing loudly as groups of parents stand nearby and chat aimlessly. Tony doesn’t need to look too hard to know that he’s by far the youngest parent there. You don’t get many twenty-year olds with a five-year-old son, after all.

Combine that with being the publicly disowned son of Howard Stark and you’ve sure as hell got yourself a reason to be stared at.

Tony sets his jaw and boldly meets a few gazes before looking back at his son. He’d tried to tame the mess of curls on Peter’s head but had really only succeeded in flattening them down a little bit, and his red sneakers had certainly seen better days; Tony prays at least once a week that they last until the winter, or even just another month or two, because he can’t afford a new pair on top of the boots the kid will need in the colder months.

He needs to say goodbye soon otherwise he’ll be late for work; Yinsen is probably the most understanding guy in the world, but Tony isn’t about to push his luck, especially after he had those two weeks off recently to nurse Peter through a horrendous bout of flu. Plus there’s a beauty of a car coming in today that he’s just _dying_ to get his hands on.

'''S’really loud, daddy.''

Tony cards a hand through Peter’s hair before cupping a freckled cheek. ''Bit scary, huh?''

Peter nods, lower lip beginning to tremble. Guilt flares to life in Tony’s chest, along with the taunting desire to just grab him and get the hell out of there, head back home and hide away under the covers like they do whenever the kid has a bad dream.

''Here, let me just – ''

He turns Peter around, unzips the backpack and locates the pencil case within, slipping out a red felt tip. He spins Peter back around and takes hold of his left hand, uncapping the pen with his teeth as he does so.

''This,'' he says, words lisping slightly as his tongue pushes against the lid, ''is a hug button.'' He draws a small circle with four little dashes coming out of each side. ''Or, if you wanna be a stickler about it, which I know you are,'' he smirks as Peter giggles, ''a hug spider, because he has lots of legs so he can give extra big hugs.''

He releases Peter’s hand and watches him admire the little doodle on the patch of skin above his thumb before drawing an identical one on his own hand.

''And when you push it, it’ll send me a hug,'' he makes a show of pushing on Peter’s skin and shivering in delight, ''and if I push mine…'' he presses his own and feels a wave of relief wash over him as Peter copies his shiver, jittering up and down with a smile. ''So make sure you’re paying attention because I’ll be pressing this a lot, and you know I don’t do things for free.''

Which is a lie but hey.

Peter giggles again before he nods seriously, pushing it again just to make sure that it works; Tony dutifully lets out a grunt as though he’s been caught up in one of Peter’s notoriously octopus-like cuddles.

He returns the pen to its rightful place and adjusts Peter’s jacket, pressing a kiss into his hair just as the bell rings. Peter’s face turns anxious again but no tears come to his eyes; instead he throws his arms around Tony’s neck, nearly sending him tumbling backwards, and holds on tight.

''Have a good day, daddy.''

Oh, _this_ kid.

''You too, buddy.'' He leans back and flashes another grin. ''I’ll be here to pick you up later, okay?''

Peter nods and begins to move away, hand slipping along Tony’s arm to clutch at his fingers before they finally separate. Tony watches him go, heart in his mouth, ignoring the curious and disapproving glances that flicker from him to Peter and back again. He waits until the kid has entered the building and vanished from sight before heading out of the playground, past the rows of soccer mom wagons and fancy convertibles, and slides into his own car, the one he’d insisted on driving Peter to school in because he can’t stand the idea of his little boy getting on a bus all by himself. As soon as the door shuts, Tony immediately presses his face into his hands, heels against his eyes to stem the tears that are threatening to fall.

He never, _ever_ , thought he would be the kind of guy who would cry on his kid’s first day of school.

Hell, he never thought he’d have kids, let alone wind up as a single dad at the age of twenty, forcing him to drop out of college and go straight to work in order to provide for a boy that he had no idea existed until a face from one drunken and very underage night in Tony’s past appeared on the landing outside Tony’s dorm, holding the hand of a sobbing four year old and a piece of paper that stated she was relinquishing all her rights as a parent.

Howard had hit the roof, demanded that Tony put the boy up for adoption, carry on with his life as though the whole thing had never happened.

But Tony couldn’t do that.

Because all it had taken was one look into those big eyes, eyes that were the shame golden shade of brown as his own, for Tony to know that there was no way he was letting this kid go.

Howard had cut him off not long after, screaming that he would rather his son be dead than a failure.

So Tony left, packed up everything he had and shoved it into a tiny apartment where there was hardly room to swing a cat, let alone for a kid to run around in; he got a job as a mechanic for a guy named Yinsen who had hired him based on nothing but Tony’s rambling monologue about his skills and the little boy standing shyly behind his legs; he even managed to score a deal with the lady across the hall, Miss Potts, where she would sometimes babysit Peter if Tony had to work late in exchange for him fixing things around her place.

He struggles to make rent sometimes; the kid lives in second-hand clothes from charity stores and dinners are nothing close to gourmet. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s managed to treat Peter to a cheeseburger or an ice cream.

It isn’t the life he, a Stark, is supposed to have. For most, it wouldn’t be considered anywhere near a fraction of a good life.

But if Peter was to be the the only good thing he does in his life, then Tony already considers it to be a blinding success.

 

* * *

 

There’s a time within a far away world where mystery is rife and the busy streets of London look to one man for answers.

In a simple but by no means humble townhouse, Anthony Stark, legendary detective, pauses as he hears footsteps approaching the room.

''Good morning, Miss Potts.''

''Oh! Master Peter, oh, thank goodness you’re back. You need to speak with him, he’s utterly intolerable.''

Stark unleashes another bullet into the wall.

''See! Honestly, Master Peter, it’s been an absolute _nightmare – ''_

And another bullet.

''It must be bad if even _you_ can’t get through to him, Miss Potts. Did the usual tactic not work?''

''I refuse to give that idiotic man anything that he wants and if that means I have to refuse to make him coffee from those wretched imported grounds that he likes so much then – ''

BANG!

''Oh! That’s it! I’ve had enough! Master Peter, I beg you, do s _omething_ or I will _!''_

There’s the distinctive sound of steel being unsheathed.

''Oh, now, Miss Potts, let’s not be too hasty – ''

''Do it _soon,_ Master Peter.''

A door slams and Stark lowers the gun, morosely staring into the dying fire as he waits. Soon enough, the door to the room opens and a figure steps in, surveying the place with a sigh. In the air hangs the scent of logs burning, decayed pages of ancient books and the mustiness of skin that has not seen the light of day for too long.

Stark gives a howl as the curtains are wrenched open and sunlight races into every corner, banishing the gloom and turning the dust particles into golden glimmers. He begs the boy to be gentle, holds up a hand beseechingly before crumpling to the floor with another yell as more light streaks in through another window.

''You know our landlady just showed me the knife she wants to gut you with.''

Stark lifts his head and peers through the fingers of the hand covering his aching eyes. Peter Parker stands over him with an exasperated yet fond smile on his young face.

''Miss Potts has always been one for dramatics. You should know that by now.'' Stark retorts loftily.

''When you sent me to visit Mister Rogers, you assured me that this,'' Peter waves a hand at the mess of the room, ''would not happen. Miss Potts says you haven’t left this room all week.''

''There is nothing of interest for me, out there, on Earth.'' Stark laments with a huff. ''At all.''

A low whine from over by the fireplace has Peter cutting his disagreement short and whirling around in alarm. The bulldog lying on the ground looks up at him with sorrowful eyes, the tip of his tongue poking out uselessly from his jowls.

''What have you done to Rhodey now?'' Peter almost screeches, falling to his knees beside the dog and patting him incessantly.

''I,'' Stark says, crawling across the floor, ''was simply testing a new anaesthetic.'' He rolls his eyes as the dog gives a pitiful moan. ''He doesn’t mind.''

Peter straightens up and rounds on him with a disapproving glare that merely causes him to resemble an angry young pup. Stark smirks at him as he climbs into his chair by the table where they take their tea.

''Yes, Master Parker?''

''Don’t you think it’s about time you…'' Peter lifts and drops his arms by his side, ''went outside?''

''As I already said – ''

''You haven’t taken a case in over a month – ''

''And I believe I have already explained – ''

''I’m worried about you, Mister Stark.''

Stark’s mouth falls shut and he frowns, bemusement and surprise lining his features. Peter holds his questioning stare for a moment before looking down at his feet which shuffle awkwardly, allowing Stark a moment to freely study the boy. With his mop of brown curls and overly large eyes, Peter Parker could easily be mistaken for someone younger than the fifteen years that he actually is; dressed in one of Stark’s threadbare hand-me-down coats and a pair of trousers that are at least an inch too long, he looks positively tiny.

It had been a most alarming moment when May Parker, the last living relative of Peter’s, had passed away. Not just for the obvious ramifications that death always brought with it, but for the fact that Peter was now, for all intents and purposes, Stark’s responsibility. It had been a promise that he had made without ever considering that it would need to be upheld and it was safe to say that the terror he had felt upon realising the consequences of his actions had been more than overwhelming.

That was two years ago. Now, the boy in front of him is a part of his life, perhaps the only part of his life except for the work that he cannot bear to imagine being without. Earnest, humble, disgustingly polite and unfailingly kind, Peter Parker was everything that Anthony Stark wasn’t and he had been so sure, so unbelievably certain, that it would not take much to push the boy away, to turn the connection sour under the duress of his way of life.

Instead, all he had succeeding in doing was quite the opposite.

''Will you at least look at these letters?'' Peter’s soft voice breaks Stark from his reverie, drawing his attention to the bundle of telegrams clutched in the boy’s fist. ''A lot of people could really do with your help.''

And there it is; the unfaltering belief that Stark does the things that he does for the greater good, because he wants to help those who desperately need it; not because he knows of no other way to quiet the constant swirling noise of his mind as it calculates and ponders and assesses every inch of every part of the world.

He meets Peter’s gaze again and feels himself immediately softening. With a growl, he snatches the papers from the boy’s hand.

''Fine.''

A few hours later, they’re hurtling through the bustling city, coat tails billowing out behind them like wings and wild grins of excitement on their faces as they allow the thrill of the hunt to ensnare their spirits and push them onwards, propelling them further into a future where one day, far from now, their stories will be regarded as the stuff of legend.

 

* * *

 

In a world that could easily have been the endgame, a storm is descending.

Tony Stark wastes no time in kicking the door open, forgoing even trying the handle because that’s just how infuriated he is, and storms into the room. The eyes of the Spider-Man suit blow wide at the sight of him. Tony spares the kid no more than a glance before rounding on the man sitting in the armchair by the window.

''Just what in the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing, Fury?''

The only reaction Fury gives to the shouting is a small twitch of his eyebrow as it dips down, increasing the frown he always seems to wear.

Utterly enraged now, Tony stalks forward, mechanical right arm whirling around in a blur of red and gold to jab a metal finger into Fury’s face.

''Care to explain why less than four hours ago I received a call from Peter’s friend telling me that ‘some freaky dude in an eyepatch’ had kidnapped him and was forcing him to go on a mission that he sure as hell didn’t sign up for?''

''Stark – ''

''Or should we start with this?'' He flips his phone up so that a hologram of a man appears. ''Who the hell is that and why is he wearing a fishbowl on his head? Or better yet, why the hell is he hanging around with Peter _fighting a fucking monster made out of water?''_

His tone has reached new levels of rage now, practically dripping in the unwavering anger that he feels and his face is twisted into a snarling grimace.

''He,'' Tony pockets the phone and jabs a finger over at Peter who is standing stock still in the corner, ''is on _vacation,_ Fury! Do you even understand what that means?''

Fury rises then, looking somewhat like a giant bat as he adjusts his long leather coat and rolls his shoulders.

''Did you or did you not make Parker an Avenger, Stark?'' he asks calmly.

Tony glares poisonously at him. ''I don’t care what I did – ''

'' – and as an Avenger, he can be called upon when needed – ''

'' – since when do you get the monopoly on – ''

'' – and the world needs him – ''

''I DON’T CARE!''

Tony’s furious shout tears through the air like a blade, silencing Fury and sending Peter scurrying forward so that he’s standing right beside Tony, hands held out like he’s ready to jump between the two men if necessary.

Tony doesn’t shout much, has never been one for raising his voice more than a few octaves, finding that charisma, sarcasm and a few wicked barbs here and there are more than sufficient in getting his point across.

But he’s not been this blindingly angry in a long time.

''I don’t care if the world is ending all over again!'' Tony snarls. ''If the Eiffel Tower collapses or if Venice sinks under a tsunami, I don’t care!'' He points at Peter again but keeps his eyes on Fury. ''Not him. Get it? Not. Him.''

The last two words are spoken with an undercurrent of a promise; a promise of unspeakable wrath if they are to be ignored. Fury and Tony look at each other for the longest moment, the air between them almost crackling with intensity.

For all the respect and reluctant care that Tony has for Nick Fury, it’s got nothing on what he feels for Peter; what he would do and has done to keep Peter safe ever since they both vanished into the depths of space in a flying donut.

Tony bears the brunt of the damage done by the war; the artificial arm hanging by his side is a blunt reminder of all that they suffered, all that was lost, all that they went through to get here, to get to a place where Peter can live a somewhat normal life; one where he gets to go on vacation with his friends and worries about things like test scores and if the girl he likes has feelings for him too.

One where he doesn’t have to deal with monsters from other dimensions.

Or Nick fucking Fury dropping his best friend with a shot from a tranquiliser gun.

Or the possibility of losing his life.

Again.

Fury relents first; with a cursory nod to Peter and a lingering glance of something that isn’t quite regret at Tony, he disappears through the broken hotel door.

''H-how did you get here so fast?''

The question stuns Tony and he has to think for a moment before he can form a coherent response.

''Was going to surprise you in London. Got tickets to go see that Hamilton show you’re always raving about.''

_(I swear that I’ll be around for you)_

The Spider-Man mask comes off and it’s Peter’s stunned face that he sees now. ‘’In the West End?’’ he gasps, eyes lighting up.

Tony nods, still unable to quell the rage – strike that, the _fear_ churning in the pit of his stomach. From the second that he heard Ned’s voice on the other end of the phone, he’d been terrified and he hated it, resented it, because they weren’t supposed to _be_ afraid anymore.

_(I’ll do whatever it takes)_

But that’s the thing, he thinks sorrowfully as the wall of the hotel room explodes in a flurry of dust and bricks and a monster formed of rushing tides and swirling whirlpools looms over them.

Things don’t always work out the way they’re supposed to.

_(I’ll make a million mistakes)_

As the nanotech crawls out from his arm and along his skin like rippling water, Tony avoids looking at Peter. He can’t bear to see the look of broken-hearted betrayal on his face; can’t bear to see what’s in his heart reflected on Peter’s face as the Iron Man suit melts over him like a second skin; a skin that he swore he would never wear again because he’d paid his debt to the universe a thousand times over.

It’s supposed to be over.

_(I’ll make the world safe and sound for you)_

Except it isn’t

And Tony fears it never will be for either of them.

 

 

* * *

 

In a world secret to but a few, a war years in the making rages on into the night. Professor Tony Stark lets out a hoarse shout as a spell crashes into the wall over his head. He hurls one back without looking and hurries forward through the door to his left, moving just fast enough to catch up to the kid running along ahead of him.

''Peter – Pete – _kid, stop!''_

Peter thrashes in Tony’s arms, wand almost slipping from his fumbling fingers. Tony yanks the kid firmly against his chest, staggering into a nearby wall to avoid the stray spells flying past them in all directions.

''Kid!''

''He killed May!'' Peter yells, smacking a fist futilely against Tony’s arms. ''He killed May!''

''I know, I know!'' Tony shouts over the clamour of nearby fighting, turning him so that they’re facing each other. ''You’ll get your chance, kid, you will, I promise, but if you think I’m going to just let you go hurtling after Toomes without a plan you – ''

He pauses as the sounds of war begin to slow down around them, as people pause in their movements to look around fearfully as a sinister whispering trickles through the air.  

Peter’s fingers dig into Tony’s arm. ''Professor Stark? What’s happening?''

''I don’t know, Pete.''

A deafening silence falls over the castle then, along with a tarry darkness that slinks into everything, turning it frigid and still.

A gush of air whips over their heads and Tony doesn’t need to look to know what’s now standing behind them.

''Run, kid,'' he murmurs, straightening up as he prepares to turn around.

Peter shakes his head defiantly. ''Never.''

Tony looks down at the boy in his arms. Peter Parker, the son of a brave witch and wizard killed long ago in the everlasting fight against evil, the boy who embodied the Hufflepuff spirit in everything that he did, the kid who had fallen into Tony’s classroom on his very first day at Hogwarts and beamed up at him with an eagerness to learn.

The one who helped Tony to see the light in a world that he had long thought completely full of darkness.

The one that Tony tried so hard to save from all of this.

His breath catches in his chest as a sweaty hand grasps one of his and squeezes tight, fingers locking together for the briefest of moments.

They can’t win this, Tony knows that.  The Stark’s and Parker’s are known for being two of the strongest lines of magic in wizarding history, but all of that power and knowledge amounts to nothing when neither of them are the chosen one.

Means nothing in the face of pure evil.

Especially when the chosen one, the only one with the power to end this madness, is lying dead somewhere out in the forbidden forest.

Tony’s heart throbs painfully as he thinks of Steve’s lifeless face, smeared with blood and grime, pressed carelessly into the ground, like he was nothing; like his life had meant nothing.

With one more glance at Peter, Tony releases him and turns to face the Dark Lord.

Tall, violet skinned and radiating nothing but wickedness, Thanos cuts a rather imposing figure against the row of sneering minions standing loyally behind him. He studies Tony and Peter with a sharp stare that seems to turn Tony’s blood to ice.

''Professor Tony Stark…'' Thanos hisses, tongue curling around the words.

Tony narrows his eyes slightly. ''You know me?''

''I do.'' Thanos’s smile is a deadly one. ''You were the one who foiled my takeover of the Ministry last year. A most impressive feat indeed; I did always admire the arrogant intelligence of a Ravenclaw.''

His piercing eyes slide over to Peter and Tony immediately moves to hide him from view. ''And your young protégé, Mister Parker; a most powerful wizard indeed. Remarkable for one so young.''

Peter steps out from behind Tony then, standing as tall as he can as Thanos stares at him greedily. ''Ah, a Hufflepuff,'' he drawls with a sneer, taking in the blood stains on the sunshine yellow lapels of Peter’s robes. ''Perhaps the sorting hat made a mistake, boy, for your power is surely worthy of Slytherin house.''

Peter glares at him, defiant and proud. ''I’d rather die.''

Tony flinches at the words, panic rushing to the forefront of his mind as Thanos grins; a horrible twisting of the mouth that bares his many teeth in malicious delight.

His wand barely twitches before Tony waves his own, screaming out an enchantment that has part of the nearby wall toppling down, paintings and all, and Peter yelling in alarm. Noise immediately floods the world once again and Tony wastes no time in seizing the kid by the arm and pulling him into a run, not even daring to look back as Thanos’s scream of rage sends a horde of Death Eaters surging after them.

They duck and dive through the melee, hopping over bodies that lie lifelessly across the broken ground, stumbling into one another, throwing out spell after spell as they move. They burst into the Entrance Hall and find themselves right in the heart of the battle: screams and cries of fear rip through the night as fighters fall on both sides; gleams of colour dance off the shattered windows as curses whirl around like fireworks and parts of the ancient castle tumble down as its very foundations shake. Tony’s fierce bark of '' _Piertotum Locomotor!''_ brings a row of battered statues to life and sends them staggering into combat while a particularly well-aimed '' _Protego!''_ from Peter allows a group of Gryffindors to gain the upper hand in a ferocious duel and all the while as they run, Tony doesn’t relinquish his grip on Peter’s arm as they keep fighting back with the others, keep pushing even though all hope has long been lost -

A bright light and a deafening bang rips Peter’s arm from Tony’s grasp and sends him whirling weightlessly through the air. His head strikes the ground in a vicious blow, turning his vision white and rendering his bones brittle and useless.

Thoughts flicker across Tony’s mind then and he briefly wonders if this is the end, if this is his life flashing before his eyes just as he’s about to die.

He thinks of the moment that he became the first Stark to not be in Slytherin house and the disappointment on his father’s face when he found out; late summer afternoons with Rhodey down by the lake watching the giant squid twirling lazily in the water; his first date with Pepper at Hogsmeade in the Three Broomsticks and how she laughed when the foam from his butterbeer got stuck to his goatee; the very first class he ever taught as the youngest Transfiguration teacher in the history of the school.

He thinks of ridiculous duels with Thor involving bolts of lightning and suits of iron; pestering Bruce in his lab full of potions; chasing Nat and Clint on broomsticks after the staff Christmas party much to the disapproval of Headmaster Fury ( _you’re a grown ass man Stark get down before one of the students catches sight of you)_ and the weekly visits to Happy’s hut on the grounds and all the years he’d screamed himself hoarse beside Steve at the Quidditch World Cup.

He thinks of Hogwarts, the place that has been his home since he was a boy.

He thinks of Peter.

Brave, loyal, smart, wonderful Peter.

Peter, who is lying across from him on the ground, pale and unmoving.

With a moan, Tony heaves himself up, crawling over the ground agonisingly slow as his body screams in protest. Twisting himself into a crouching position, he eases Peter up and into his arms, propping the boy up against his thighs and cradling his head in the crook of an elbow.

He can’t understand how the world can move so madly around them when Peter is so still against him.

''Pete,'' Tony whispers, brushing a few curls from the boy’s forehead. ''Open your eyes.''

An abrupt shake does nothing but make Peter’s head loll horribly and Tony clenches his eyes shut as a bolt of agony pierces him straight through.

''No no, kid, come on, don’t do this to me,'' Tony gasps, giving him another shake. ''Please, kid, come on.''

Peter says nothing and Tony buckles, face falling into Peter’s hair as a wail of grief pushes against the back of his gritted teeth.

The world carries on spinning even though it feels so much like it’s ended.

He feels the approaching darkness of Thanos against his back but doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move from his crumpled position on the floor; merely pulls Peter closer, curling over his body like a pathetic imitation of a shield.

Then he hears an almighty crashing sound just as a hand reaches up to touch his face. Tony’s eyes snap open to meet Peter’s as they look dazedly up at him. He lets out a choking gasp of relief and presses a kiss into the boy’s hair before looking up as loud shouting fills the air.

Light, pure and iridescent, filters into the hall from the newly formed hole in the castle wall. All manner of witches and wizards are swarming through it in droves, wands drawn and mouths open in wild battle cries with Nat and Clint leading the charge. Centaurs and house elves barge their way through the crowds and in the distance comes the rumbling roar of a giant or two.

Bruce and Thor step forward through the gap, looking for all the world like angels against the backdrop of the rising sun. And then, just as the first rays of light break across the horizon and slice through the lingering shadow of the night, Steve Rogers strides into view, filthy and beaten but oh so very alive. Tony can’t help the laugh that bursts out of his mouth as Steve meets his gaze from across the way, steady and unwavering as ever.

Hope, blazing and euphoric, breaks free inside Tony and he looks back down at Peter, grinning madly as the boy smiles weakly up at him.

''Up you get, kiddo. We’ve got a war to win.''

Tony rises slowly, tucking a woozy Peter into his side, and lifts his wand.

''We’re going to make it, kid,'' he promises, believing it with all that he has as Steve surges past them to meet Thanos in a ground shaking exchange of spells, ''I promise.''

 

* * *

 

 On Earth 23451, Tony Stark is having a _day_.

More like a _life_ really, but you know.  

For starters, he’s soaked through to the bone from the sudden downpour that occurred on his way home.

His boss is an asshole who needs to lay off trying to sleep with his secretary and start actually taking notice of all the goddamn work that Tony puts in for absolutely zero reward.

He’s twenty-seven years old and hasn’t been laid, let alone been on a date, in well over a year.

They’re very dangerously close to not making rent for the second month in a row.

He has to pop prescription pills like clockwork for his traitorously weak heart.

Dum-E, Bruce’s useless pet robot, has broken the blender again.

Nebula’s sat upon the fridge and has a wicked streak of blue running through her fur.

His nephew has super freaky powers that allow him to climb on the ceiling and listen to conversations from three floors down.

And there’s a blanket fort in the living room.

Tony pauses in the doorway, arm still raised from where he’d tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter, and eyes the spectacle in front of him with suspicion. What seems to be every sheet and blanket in the apartment is spread out across the room, attached to the ceiling via a sticky string of spider silk, creating a colourful canopy of blues and creams and patchwork with the odd Star Wars pattern here and there.

He catches Nebula’s disapproving stare as she looks at him from her spot on top of the fridge and sighs.

''Thor,'' he calls as he shuts the door, ''if you’re in there, I swear I’m moving out.''

There’s a furious whirl of motion from inside the sheet city and Thor’s dreadlocks bounce into view before his face does. ''Oh come now, there’s no need for that.''

''No need for – '' he sucks in a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. ''Why is my cat blue?''

Thor looks over at Nebula who twitches her tail moodily at him and blanches a little before turning sheepish eyes back to Tony, which is an explanation in itself.

Tony glares at him for another moment before rolling his eyes and stalking over to their decrepit but ever faithful coffee machine. He steps over the shards of broken blender and quirks his eyebrow at the bot that looms over them, mechanical arm drooping sadly.

Dum-E is an absolute pain in the ass most days, forever crashing into things and trying to make utterly rancid concoctions in the kitchen, but he seems to like Tony the most, even more so than Bruce which Tony deems revenge enough against the man for having actually built the thing in the first place. Tony offers the bot a resigned pat on his claw before handing him the broom, switching on the coffee machine with his other hand.

''Bruce is in there as well, isn’t he.''

There’s another flurry of rustling. ''Can I just say,'' and Tony nearly moans in dismay as Bruce pops up beside Thor, ''you know as well as we do that he’s impossible to say no to.''

He, being Peter, makes his presence known then. Tony lifts his gaze to the ceiling to look at the grubby faced eight-year-old beaming down at him.

''Hi, Uncle Tony.''

''What’s shakin’, kiddo?''

Because really, what else can he say? The kid is literally s _tuck_ to the ceiling.

When Tony’s brother and his wife, Peter’s mother and father, had died in a car wreck two years ago, he didn’t even think twice about taking the kid in. Sure, he was broke, barely a quarter of a century old and living with a wannabe artist and a trainee doctor who made things explode on a regular basis in his spare time, but Peter was Tony’s family, his only family, and Tony had only needed to meet the kid’s tearful eyes in that tiny hospital room to know that from now on, it would be the two of them against the world.

He hadn’t factored in the kid getting bitten by a goddamn radioactive spider.

There had been no drama; just waking up one morning to find Peter upside down and grinning at him from his bedroom doorway, greeting him with a cheerful ''look at what I can do, Uncle Tony!'' and well, what else could they do but just get on with it?

It’s far from the weirdest thing he’s ever seen; the wizard who lives downtown and does crazy swirly thing with his hands is quite the sight to behold and as for that idiot that calls himself The Human Torch…

They tell Bruce and Thor because how else do you explain a kid hanging from the light fixtures by a web?

To their credit, they take it in their stride and Tony thanks his lucky stars that he spoke to Bruce that first day in homeroom, because having a friend who is a doctor with a brain the size of a planet comes in pretty handy when they come to the realisation that Peter might actually be a little bit mutated.

Thor fills sketchbooks with page after page of stories featuring a superhero known as Spider-Man and earns a pretty sweet commission by selling them down at the local comic book store, though the tempting pull of procrastination prevents him from taking it as far as he probably could.

And that’s how it’s been for what feels like so long now.

Tony feels his lips pull into a smile as Peter lowers himself to hang directly in front of Tony’s face, hair on end and face rapidly turning red. With an affectionate roll of his eyes, Tony drops a quick kiss onto Peter’s forehead before demanding to know who the hell thought it would be a good idea to give the kid ice cream less than an hour before his bedtime.

Tony ends up in the blanket fort, pressed way too closely against Thor’s hulking form with the glow of the television serving as their only source of light for what seems like a horrendously long time, until a knock at the door has Tony scrabbling his way to freedom, dodging a pair of sticky spider-baby hands as he races across the apartment.

And opens the door only to fall head over in heels in love with what’s standing on the other side.

''Hi,'' the redheaded woman says, smiling prettily. ''My name’s Pepper, I just moved in across the hall. I’m sorry to ask but do you happen to have any milk?'' she laughs bashfully. ''I’m all out.''

Tony knows he’s staring, knows that he needs to form some sort of coherent response, and he’s just about to splutter a mouthful of gibberish when a happy chirp flies up from somewhere near his ribs.

''Hi! I’m Peter and this is my Uncle Tony! Do you wanna come play in our blanket fort?''

Pepper smiles down at the boy. ''Hi, Peter.'' Her eyes lift to meet Tony’s and his traitorous heart skips a beat as he spots the cheeky sparkle in their blue depths. ''Hello, _Uncle Tony.''_

Oh yeah, he’s definitely having a _day._

 

* * *

 

Life is cruel across the stars and that cruelty hangs heavy in the hospital room that Tony Stark sits in, murmuring quietly as his eyes follow the words upon the pages in front of him.

''Do you think there’s other versions of us out there?''

Tony pauses in his reading and looks up.

''What do you mean, bud?''

Peter takes a laboured breath before asking again. ''Do you think that there might be other places,'' he rasps, ''where there’s a different you and a different me?''

Tony closes the book and leans forward, smiling curiously. ''What kind of different?''

Peter’s bloodshot eyes crinkle and the waxen skin of his hollow cheeks stretches as he smiles, showing his stained teeth. ''Maybe…a world where we get to be superheroes?''

''Superheroes, huh?'' Tony rubs a hand gently across Peter’s forehead, palm smoothing against the softness of his bare scalp, trying not to flinch as his fingers brush against the delicate bones of his skull. ''What would make us super?''

Peter’s nose crinkles in thought. His eyes close and Tony wonders if he’s fallen asleep again, like he does so often these days, but they’re soon opening again.  

''Maybe I could fly? Or, like, just swing around somehow, and be insanely strong…'' He yawns widely. ''And you could fly too, blast energy out of your hands, be bulletproof…''

Peter’s voice goes gentle as it trails off. Tony watches, keeping the smile locked onto his face until Peter’s eyes fully close. Once he knows that the kid is asleep, Tony stands to adjust his pillow, gently easing the bed down so that Peter looks more comfortable.

He takes a moment to look at the boy. It’s a painful thing to do these days, and hard as he tries to hide it, Tony knows that Peter can tell that he finds it difficult.

He misses the fullness of Peter’s cheeks, the luscious curls that used to cover his head in a wild mess, the sparkle of his eyes and the glow that seemed to radiate from his skin.

Now, his skin is as thin as paper, the veins beneath dark and offensive; his lips are cracked and bruised and the shape of his skull is etched into Tony’s mind like a blueprint.

They’d ignored the symptoms for the longest time. Dismissed the odd little signs as nothing, merely seen them as unrelated events; an infection or two there, a nosebleed here, bruises that could just as easily have been obtained from accidentally knocking into the corner of the coffee table.

But it kept happening, more and more, until they couldn’t ignore it anymore.

One trip to the doctors, Tony tagging along because May had begged him to, not that he would have been anywhere else, and their worlds came crashing down.

Leukaemia.

Advanced.

Only a matter of time.

Tony threw all the money he could at it, hired every specialist, obsessively researched every trial, bribed, threatened, begged –

Until Peter took his hand one night and gave him a look that said it all.

They did things that Peter had always wanted to do; went to Disney World, waited in line to see the midnight showing of the new Star Wars movie on its opening night, skydived in a blur of Tony screaming and Peter laughing his head off in pure joy; Tony even took Peter and May to Italy where they spent a blissful week in the sun eating their body weight in pasta and staying up late to gaze up at the night sky where the stars sparkled like diamonds.

They embraced the little things too; they tried every single flavour of ice cream at Peter’s favourite parlour downtown, held marathon viewings of the movies that he loved the best, took picture after picture together no matter what they were doing, stayed up late talking, Peter tucked into Tony’s arms and Tony spouting all the words he could think of as he tried to ward off the dawn, wondering if each day would be the last.

Time eventually caught up with them though. As the days went by, Peter grew weaker and weaker. Headaches floored him, seizures began to pull him apart on a regular basis and a relentless weariness kept him more unconscious than awake.

Now, it was all hospital beds and drips and beeping monitors and smiling nurses and Tony couldn’t bear it.

''I’m sorry I can’t stay,'' Peter had said to him one night as they played cards on the bed, Peter bundled up in a million blankets because he felt cold and Tony in a vest because it was the hottest week of the summer so far.  

Tony’s fingers had fumbled the four eights and two queens he was holding, sending them skimming to the floor.

''I don’t want you to be sad,'' Peter told him, eyes overflowing with tears, sounding so sad that it made Tony want to scream.

Because only someone like Peter could worry about everyone else when it’s him that’s dying.

But it’s true.

Tony doesn’t want him to go.

He knows it’s selfish, knows that in some sick way that it would be a mercy, because that would mean no more pain for Peter; no more aching as he does something as simple as breathe, no more having to look knowingly at Tony, brown eyes full of a wisdom that no kid should have, as Tony pastes a mask of brave smiles over the sorrow that lingers just on the cusp of _e_ _very single thing._

Tony focuses on the steady _beep…beep…beep…_ of the heart monitor, craving the sound, needing the reassurance that for now, Peter is still here.

Tony thinks that if were a tangible force, his love could mend this. Thinks that it could draw out the hurt, obliterate it where it stands, and build Peter back up, stitch him back together, make it alright.

He longs for the ability to tear his heart out of his chest, rip it apart and give it to Peter, just so that the kid can go on a little longer.

Just a bit longer.

Just give them a little bit longer.

 

* * *

 

In a land of ice and fire, the night is dark and full of terrors.

The blackness of the world is scorched with roaring flames and billowing smoke. Blood stains the snowy ground in a crimson tide and the bodies of the fallen line the castle walls in careless towers of ruined sinew and gutless husks. The stench of death is thick on the trembling air but it does not come from those who have given up their very souls for the fate of the world; it flows from the army of the dead as they surge onwards, agonisingly slow yet relentless in their pursuit, flooding through the decimated gates and past the stricken battlements, consuming all that stand against them.

As the bloodthirsty dawn approaches, the fighting rages on, the never-ending push for life striking as hard as it can, every house and family within the seven kingdoms wheeling their power together in a last alliance of courage and defiance against what has haunted their nightmares for generations.

Out in the godswood, surrounded by the empty shells of so many of his comrades, Tony Stark, Lord of Winterfell, grabs his sword and staggers to his feet. Beaten and bloody, he leans heavily on his left leg and draws in a snarl of a breath as the Night King glides towards him, cobalt eyes hungry and eager with the desire for oblivion.

''Anthony,'' Bruce says from behind him, voice level and solid.

Tony turns to look at him, stares into the omniscient eyes of his friend, his brother in all but blood, and sees his destiny gazing back at him.

''You’re a good man.''

_A good man._

That’s what Peter had called him.

Peter Parker, the last of his house, young Lord of the Spider Isles; a mere boy who didn’t deserve to know war or ruin.

For all Tony knows, the boy is out there among the dead.

_A good man._

As Peter’s face flashes through his thoughts, something blinding and furious flares to life within Tony and he hurtles forward, a cry of rage belting out of his throat just as a dragon roars from somewhere overhead.

He’s struck from the side by a glancing blow that sends him to his knees in the swirling snow. Sword still clutched tightly in his fist, Tony tilts his head back up to regard the crowd of White Walkers surrounding him. Familiar faces stare back at him from within the ranks; his heart twists with sorrow as he sees Clint’s empty gaze among them.

The pause of crunching footsteps has him looking forward again, straight up into the face of the Night King, a face long considered as nothing but a chilling legend; a face that gives no indication of mercy as an arm reaches round to unsheathe a sword from its leathery scabbard.

Tony watches stoically, almost wearily, as a gnarled hand arcs the weapon high, rearing back for the final blow.

And then Peter is flying out of the darkness, mouth wrenched open in a piercing cry, blade glinting in his hand.

Tony nearly screams as the Night King pivots on the spot, seizing Peter by the throat in an unforgiving grip and holding him high in the air.

And then Peter is hurling the blade towards Tony with a wheezing gasp of ''Lord Stark!'' and Tony moves upwards with a raging cry, snatching it in a desperate grip and plunging it straight into the back of the demon before him.

Time draws to a standstill for an earth-shaking moment before everything is exploding in a splintery shower of broken ice. Peter falls to the ground as the Night King shatters and Tony immediately falls with him, clutching him close in a grip that’s all too tight and yet not strong enough as the dawn finally breaks, banishing the endless dark in a brilliant wave of golden light that sends euphoric cheers high into the sky.

People are heading their way as word of their victory spreads like wildfire but Tony, after sparing a glance back at a serenely smiling Bruce, only has eyes for the boy in his arms. His body aches and the blood leaking sluggishly from the wound in his leg is uncomfortably cloying against his skin but he finds that he doesn’t care as Peter blinks up at him.

''You did it, sir,'' he says with awe and Tony barely manages to push a trembling hand through the boy’s matted curls before his young voice is ringing out as clear as a bell in a joyful cry.

''All hail Anthony Stark, the hero of Winterfell!''

Tony’s fingers fumble against Peter’s cloak as he tries to find the words, tries to tell the boy that he’s got it wrong, that without him, Tony would be dead along with the rest.

Peter’s face morphs into a bright grin, as though he can tell what Tony is thinking, and his second shout is met with an echoing response that permanently seals Tony’s place in the world.

''THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH!''

The chant grows louder and louder, carried like a prayer across the land as more and more voices join in and Peter’s is the loudest of them all.

More and more people are swarming the godswood and Tony knows it won’t be long before the festivities begin, before the celebration of life consumes all those who lived through the night to experience it. Desperate for one last moment, he pulls Peter into a tight embrace.

''What do we say to the god of death?'' he asks huskily, a tired smile finally appearing on his lips.  

Peter laughs shakily and ducks his head to lean into Tony’s shoulder.

''Not today.''

 

* * *

 

On Earth 618, everything happens in the way that everyone expects it to.

Except for one thing.

Tony Stark can’t move fast enough, shoving himself from the ground and seizing the edges of the gauntlet, pulling as hard as he can, needing just enough time to –

Thanos’s fist crashes into him, making his suit nearly shatter under the incredible strength, and knocks him away. His body screams and his mind races and desperation consumes him –

''I am…inevitable,'' Thanos declares triumphantly and Tony flinches as he snaps his fingers –

And then there’s a flurry of red and blue and suddenly the terrible glow of the stones is winding its way up Peter’s arm, curling into the threads of his suit like silk, tinkling obscenely as they settle into place.

Peter breathes heavily, glaring defiantly up at Thanos before his eyes flicker over to Tony. Tony gazes back at him, arms frozen where they’re reaching out for him, because this isn’t happening, it can’t be happening, not like this.

_Please not like this._

''And I…am…Spider-Man.''

A smile appears, the very smile that had haunted Tony’s dreams for the last five years, only this time it’s so full of love, a love that Tony wants to return tenfold, if Peter will just give him the chance -

Peter snaps his fingers and Tony screams.

The universe pulls back together and falls apart at the same time.

The joy of the world feels hollow, cheap, unbearable in its boldness.

And the skies above New York City lighting up with red and blue fireworks in celebration and remembrance of their fallen protector does nothing but make the chasm of pain deeper.  

It’s months before Tony can even bring himself to utter a single word about it.

''Everywhere I go,'' he rasps, bloodshot eyes looking over to where Happy sits nearby, ''I see his face.''

Happy nods, face soft with sadness. ''Yeah, I miss him too.''

All the memorials in the world, the statues, the murals, the constant hum of adoration that flows through everything like water, will never be enough for Tony.

He’s haunted by a different image now; the charred face of Peter Parker, staring unseeingly up at Tony as the life, that bright beautiful incredible sparkle of life, slips out of his gentle eyes.

Tony no longer knows the difference between reality and his nightmares.

 

* * *

 

In a reality where Stark Industries is nothing but the name of a dollhouse in Morgan Stark’s bedroom, a sharp voice has Tony Stark pausing by a classroom door.

_''Parker! Is there a problem?''_

Tony surreptitiously peeks into the biology classroom and catches a glimpse of one of the students from his homeroom, Peter Parker, turning a horrendous shade of beetroot and shaking his head as he shoves something into the pocket of his jeans.

Tony stares at him, frown pulling at his eyebrows.

The kid had been wearing glasses this morning.

Checking his watch and seeing that it’s only minutes before the bell rings for lunch, Tony leans into the wall by the door and waits, wondering for the millionth time how the hell he’d managed to let Steve convince him to come here.

He was a university lecturer for a reason. He didn’t know how to be around kids – _teenagers –_ and it’s only because Steve had begged him and made the most outrageously ridiculous promises ( _T_ _ony please I’ll name the damn lunch hall after you if that’s what it takes)_ that Tony had agreed to taking on the role of a substitute math teacher in a high school full of the hormonal little monsters.  

''It’ll only be for a few weeks, just until we can find a more permanent solution,'' Steve had assured him over coffee, smiling as Tony glared petulantly at him. ''Besides, Fury told me that you were looking for a new challenge,'' he added, eyes sparkling cheekily over the rim of his mug. ''Apparently intimidating the future geniuses of the world doesn’t come as easily to you as it used to.''

Tony can’t deny that it _does_ give him a teeny tiny bit of a thrill to see gaping jaws and eyes full of awe peering up at him (or down in some cases considering the size of the quarterbacks because _jesus_ ) but it’s only the first day of the second week and he’s already losing his mind.

The bell trills harshly above his head for a few seconds before the corridor rapidly fills with students. People shuffle out of the doorway next to him and it seems like an insufferably long time before Peter steps out of the room, the last one to do so.

''Where are your glasses, kid?''

Peter whirls around with a yelp, books tumbling to the floor with a heavy smack. He squints at Tony, nose wrinkling as he does so, before his eyes widen in embarrassment.

''Oh h-hey, Mister Stark,'' he stammers, dropping down to fumble for his textbooks. ''I, uh, didn’t s-see you there.''

''Well that figures,'' Tony replies dryly, crouching down to help, ''seeing as that’s what your glasses are meant to help you do.''

Peter merely flushes a darker red as he gathers his books to his chest. They both stand up again and Tony holds out a hand.

''Give ‘em here, kid.''

''H-huh? I, I don’t – ''

''Come on, I don’t have all day.''

Peter stares at him fretfully. There’s a visible layer of sweat on his upper lip and Tony can see that the kid is actually trembling a little. Tony immediately regrets this whole exchange, but then Peter is reaching into his pocket and holding out the broken frame of his glasses.

Tony takes the two halves and lifts them up into the light; there’s a clean break through the centre of the bridge but thankfully no damage to the lenses themselves. They’re rather fashionable as glasses go; black and thick in a style that’s all the rage these days and obviously expensive enough for Peter to be looking at them in utter dismay.

Tony tucks the pieces into one palm and motions for the kid to follow him as he moves down the hall, walking slowly enough for Peter to follow him easily through the crowd. He doesn’t stop until they reach the shop classroom and strides in without knocking, barking at Clint to clear off for an hour.

The man merely rolls his eyes with a ‘’Whatever, Stark,’’ before doing as he’s told. Tony awkwardly claps a hand on Peter’s bony shoulder and steers him into a chair. He drops his satchel onto Clint’s desk, not even glancing up as a pot of pencils goes flying, and pulls out a foot-long sandwich wrapped in brown paper.

''You like tuna?''

''Um,'' Peter flounders, hugging his books close again. ''Y-yeah?''

Tony unwraps the sandwich, peeling away the heart sticker that acts as a seal with just a little bit of reverence, and holds half out to Peter. The kid must be hungry because his unbearable shield of awkwardness falls away for a moment as he drops the books and grabs the sandwich, ripping off a huge chunk and chewing it appreciatively.

Tony looks at him, eyebrows high and lips smirking, before taking a bite of his own.

''This is really good, sir,'' Peter says brightly after he swallows, and then blushes again. Tony finds it irritatingly endearing.

''I’ll be sure to tell my husband you think so,'' Tony says easily, wiping a smear of tuna from the corner of his goatee.

Peter smiles shyly and looks pleased.

Apart from homeroom, Tony doesn’t see Peter often. The classes that he teaches are for the more advanced students, and he knows from overhearing a conversation between other members of the department that the kid is far from a maths whizz; in fact his scores are some of the lowest in the entire school.

He knows zilch apart from that, except that Peter Parker is a bizarrely charming ball of polite bashfulness who doesn’t deserve to have his glasses snapped in half.

Tony munches another mouthful of sandwich thoughtfully.

''So, who broke your glasses?''

Peter splutters, smacking his chest to encourage the food lodged in his throat to go down. He starts to protest but falters under Tony’s knowing look.

''Flash,'' he mumbles.

''What kind of stupid ass name is that?''

Another smile fleetingly makes itself known at his words.

''Eugene Thompson? He’s, uh, in your calculus class?''

''People actually call him Flash?'' Tony sneers, picturing the boy instantly. ''And so this Zoom kid, what, bullies you?''

Peter shrugs, dropping the sandwich to pick at his fingernails. ''I, uh…I wouldn’t call it _bullying – ''_

''He shoves you around?''

''Well, yeah but – ''

''Makes you feel like crap?''

''I guess – ''

''And he snapped your glasses in half?'' Peter nods, and Tony holds back a growl, because this is _exactly_ why he doesn’t work with kids. ''Yeah, that’s bullying, Parker.''

Peter’s shoulders sag, as though _he’s_ the one that’s done something wrong, and Tony’s stomach churns unpleasantly.

''Does anyone else know? Do anything about it?''

''Nebula, my friend – well, sort of my friend, not that we talk much…''

 ''Is that the scary looking girl with the blue hair?''

''Yeah. Sometimes, if she’s arounds, she does something about it. Threatened to stab him in the eye with a pencil once, but then she got a whole month of detention for it so I just…''

''Don’t tell anybody and suffer in silence.''

Yeah, that shit ain’t gonna fly.

''So we’ll deal with that later, and we _will_ be dealing with it,'' he says, giving Peter a pointed look, ''but first let’s get you kitted back out in these snazzy specs, huh?''

Shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth, Tony saunters over to the large storage cupboard that sits at the back of the room. He roots around for a minute before he finds what he’s looking for.

''This’ll be a patch job,'' he tells Peter as he heads back to the desk, unscrewing the cap off the tube of superglue.  ''But it should do the trick.''

He delicately dabs a drop onto one side of the broken bridge and presses it against the other with a careful firmness.

''So, tell me, kid,'' he says because he’s nosy and undeniably curious, ''what gets that brain of yours ticking?''

Peter blinks, looking shocked, as if nobody’s ever taken the time to ask him such a question before.

''I like history, a-and biology is kinda cool I guess…'' he stops, eyes flickering down to the pile of books that sit between them on the desk. ''I love books and…and writing.''

Tony glances down at the books too and realises that they aren’t textbooks like he had originally thought but they’re library books; thick and heavy hardbacks with yellowing pages and dented covers.

The kind of books only a true lover of literature would choose.

And it hits Tony then: _this_ is the kid that Thor (because only a teacher of literature could have a name as kooky as that) had mentioned the other day when he had enthusiastically invited himself to sit with Tony during lunch; _this_ is the Peter who is destined to be the next Stephen King if the work Thor had thrust in his face is anything to go by.  

Tony can’t even fathom the depth of the imagination that swirls within the kid’s mind.

No wonder he can’t fit any numbers in there; it’s too full of other worlds and endless possibilities for all those that dwell within them.

''Well, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for your published works, Mister Parker.''

He gives the bridge of the glasses a little tap and, with a nod of satisfaction, hands them over to Peter who delicately slides them onto his face.

The change is almost instantaneous. Peter sits just a little bit taller, meets Tony’s gaze with a little more confidence and Tony suddenly finds that he doesn’t want their conversation to stop yet; it’s peaceful there in the room with its woody smell and the warm sunlight coming through the windows, and Tony can see Peter relaxing more and more by the minute.

And it’s by far the most interesting thing that’s happened to him since he walked into the building two weeks ago.

''You got homework that needs doing?'' he hears someone ask before realising that the words came from his mouth.

''Oh, y-yeah, just some math…'' a modicum of distaste colours Peter’s tone and Tony finds himself pushing down against the laugh that desperately wants to escape.

''Want some help?''

The beaming smile that Peter immediately gives him almost makes Tony jump in surprise.

''Really? That would be great, M-Mister Stark, thank you.''

Tony curses Steve Rogers for the hundredth time that day, because it’s absolutely, unequivocally and most definitely that man’s fault that Tony is starting to go soft in his old age.

''No problem, kid.''

 

* * *

Deep beneath the ground and somewhere far too near to the edges of Hell, Tony Stark squares his shoulders as he looks upon the Gate. Wide and gaping like a ferocious and snarling jaw, a sinister orange glow beams out from within, lighting up the horrendous shadow that looms just beyond the fluttering edge of the doorway that leads to the Upside Down.

The Mind Flayer.

Tony feels fear slither down his spine in a chilly trail. Of all the things they’ve seen, all the horrors that have come to life as though from a ceaseless nightmare, it’s the most terrifying thing yet. Malevolence and malice seems to seep through the gateway and into the air, straight into Tony’s skin and into his body, rendering him short of breath and spattering his skin with a cold sweat.

The elevator sways a little as he adjusts his footing, grinds his heel into the metal platform and straightens up.

_Get it together, Stark._

Peter stands silently beside him, staring into the abyss with a scowl. Bathed in the blazing light from the gap, he looks otherworldly; curls slicked back against his head, dark smudges under his wide eyes and jaw set with determination.

‘’Kid…’’

Peter looks over at him immediately and Tony sees the terror in his eyes. He longs to reach out and hold him, pull them back out of this godforsaken place and get away, as far as they can.

But it’s an impossible dream and they both know it.

So instead, he holds Peter’s gaze and gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Peter nods, lip trembling just a little, before he turns back to face his fate.

Tony watches as the kid throws a hand out in front of him, fingers twisting delicately, and the frayed laces of the Gate begin to thread back together, stitching a slow path across the opening. Blood immediately begins to seep from his nose in a thick trail.

A low rumbling announces the displeasure of the creature lurking just on the edge and Tony cocks his gun, knowing that it’ll do no good in the face of a murderous monster from another dimension, but he aims it all the same, ready to go down swinging.

A high-pitch chittering to his left alerts him to the presence of the Demo-dogs ( _goddamn those kids_ ) and he whirls the gun round, firing rapidly at the beasts as they scurry up the walls, leap onto the elevator and snarl into his face. He switches to the shotgun and unleashes round after round, swearing under his breath, feeling the panic rise up inside because how the _fuck are they going to get out of this -_

There’s an almighty scream from beside him, guttural and deep, and Tony slowly turns to look in amazement, in terror, as Peter rises into the air, both arms thrown out and feet above the ground and face contorted with the force of his yelling, with the strength of the power that flies out of him to meet the reaching tendrils of the Mind Flayer head on.

Tony looks up at Peter, eyes blown wide, frozen to the spot. He finds himself thinking back to the kid grabbing his hand as they had descended into the cavern, how Peter’s fingers had squeezed his so tightly.

He promises to every possible deity there is that he’ll do anything to give Peter the life he deserves if they make it out of this alive.

 _Please god let them make it out alive._  

Everything is a mess of noise and blazing light as Peter continues to scream, blood dripping down from his nose and eyes almost clenched shut, and suddenly the fronds of the Mind Flayer sink back behind the Gate as it pulls shut and everything around them becomes silent.

Tony catches Peter as he falls, crashing to his knees and scooping the kid up to hold him close, breathing in the sweaty musk of his hair and pressing a kiss to the hot skin of his cheek.

''You did good, kid,'' he murmurs thickly into Peter’s shoulder, pulling him even closer as the kid nuzzles tearfully into his neck. ''You did so good.''

Tony stares out into the darkness surrounding them, face twisted into a mask of overwhelmed exhaustion, and holds the kid close for a long while before they finally find the strength to send the elevator back up into the light, back to their friends, back to a world where things like evil and darkness have no place anymore.

They don’t hear the voices from the other side seeping through the tiny fracture in the wall where the gaping portal had been, don’t recognise the familiar yells that could be their very own if the tables were turned.  

_''Peter! The gate’s shut, it’s too late! Get outta there!''_

_''No wait Tony I can get it back open again, I can! I – ''_

_''There’s no time, kid! Get – Thor, Steve, someone grab – hang on, Pete, I’m coming!''_

_'' I got it, just a little more – a little more – ''_

_''PETER!!''_

 

* * *

 

Tony jerks awake with a wrenching gasp, sucking in a gulp of air that seems to stutter in his lungs. His vision swims momentarily before sharpening, focusing through the dim darkness on the soft light coming from the blank television screen, the chirping of the crickets outside the window, the sound of Peter’s loud whisper from where he’s crouched beside him.

'' – an you hear me?''

''Peter?'' Tony rasps, reaching up to clutch one of his shoulders.

''Yeah, hi, it’s me.''

 _''You_ you?'' Tony demands, ducking his head to get a look at Peter’s eyes, lifting a hand to cup one of his cheeks.

Peter squints at him. ''Who else?''

''Oh, thank god it’s you, kid,'' Tony snatches him up into a hug, ignoring the protesting squawk Peter gives as his face is smooshed into Tony’s chest. ''I gotta stop watching these stupid movies with you before bed.''

''Tropic Thunder is not stupid, it’s a masterpiece of cinema,'' Peter complains, tilting his head and taking an exaggerated breath. ''How is it you still smell like motor oil when you haven’t even been in the garage today?''

''Because that is the scent of pure _man,_ my boy.''

Peter rolls his eyes. ''What were you dreaming about anyway?''

''Not sure,'' Tony frowns, trying to chase the last few echoes in the back of his mind. ''Something about…a gate and…a dog, I think?''

There’s so much more, he thinks, but the foreboding prickle on his skin and the swooping rush of excitement in his belly and the pounding of his heart eases away quickly, leaving him in doubt of what had actually been going on inside his head, if anything at all.

Whatever it was, the sight of Peter leaves him brimming with relief and an all-consuming tenderness that has him pulling the kid back in. Peter goes willingly, pushing himself back up onto the couch and tucking his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. An arm snags snugly around Tony’s middle and he groans a little as the kid gives him an affectionate squeeze, returning it with one of his own just before sleep carries them away again.

The morning soon comes and the first rays of light bring with them the sound of the front door flying open with a crash and Quill singing at the top of his lungs.

 _'' - duuuuude looks like a laadyyy –_ ohhh, were you guys sleeping?''

Tony, who had bolted upright at the intrusion, falls back into the cushions with a loud moan that almost borders on agonised. He grunts when Peter drops onto him a few seconds later from the ceiling, having flung himself up there in his surprise, and he immediately burrows back into Tony with a sleepy mumble.  

''Do you aliens have no concept of time?'' Tony croaks plaintively.

''Sorry!' Quill whispers loudly before chuckling sheepishly.

''Moron,'' someone growls from nearby. A metal hand touches Tony’s hair fleetingly and his mouth twitches.

''Hiya, Bluebell.''

''S’that Nebula?'' Peter slurs into Tony’s neck.

''Go back to sleep,'' comes a gentle reply, ''I’ll take care of Quill.''

''Ohhhh no,'' Quill’s voice grows rapidly distant, ''don’t even think about it!''

The air goes quiet and still again, save for the twitter of sweet birdsong and Peter’s sluggish snoring. Tony’s mind is pleasantly fuzzy now, full of thoughts of how immeasurably lucky he is to be able to lie here like this, cosy and warm and holding onto something so unbearably precious that it makes his blood tingle with all the near unimaginable love that he feels.

It’s a love that sent him to the ends of the universe and back, and it’s the same love that allows them to be here like this together, safe in the knowledge that it’s exactly where they’re supposed to be.

The surge of affection rushing through him has Tony wrapping his sleep-heavy arms tighter around Peter and nuzzling the mad mess of curls resting just below his chin. ''Sweet dreams, Underoos,'' he whispers gently before he drifts back into a slumber where he dreams of nothing but the days of sunshine that await them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Jeeeez that was long! There was no good time in my mind for a split to make it more than one chapter long but hopefully it was okay. 
> 
> This is dedicated to blondsak for being so amazingly kind and supportive and to ciaconnaa for being the first person to ever gift me a fic, something I'm still giddy about :) And also to all the people who have left such lovely comments and kudos on the other fics in this series, I'm still truly stunned by it all! 
> 
> For those interested about the worlds/universes in this, Uncle Tony, young dad Tony, one armed Tony telling off Fury, sick Peter, teacher Tony and grieving Tony are all just little personal au ideas with a few movie references thrown in, otherwise the order goes as follows : 
> 
> Aladdin  
> Jurassic Park  
> Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes  
> Harry Potter  
> Game of Thrones  
> Stranger Things
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave comments and kudos if you liked it :)


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